to the stories he delights to tell of my grandfather and mother, until their very appearance seems familiar to my vision.  I know that my grandfather was a small man, and a passionate man, and Toney sometimes tells me I am like him.  His eye was gray—­so is mine; his face sharper than round—­so is mine, and sometimes my temper is terrible—­so was his;” and she laughed again that same wild thrilling laugh as she gallopped up to the cabin and leaped down to greet the old man, who was seated at the door of his hut beneath the shade of a catalpa, the trunk of which was worn smooth from his long leaning against it.  He was very black and very fat.  His wool was white as snow, and but for the seams in both cheeks, cut by the knife in observance of some ridiculous rite in his native land, would have been really fine-looking for one of his age.  He arose and shook hands with the cousin, but did not approach the gentleman.  He was evidently not pleased with his presence and was chary of his talk.

“Ah! young missus,” he said, when he received the basket, “you bring old Toney sometin good.  You is my young missus, too; but dis one is de las one.  Dey is all married and gone but dis one.” (This conversation was addressed to the cousin.) “All gone away but dis one, and when she marry dare will be nobody to fetch dis ole nigger good tings and talk to de ole man.”

“Uncle Toney, I don’t intend to marry.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the old man, “berry well, berry well!  I hear dat from ebery one ob my young misses, and where is dey now?  All done married and gone.  You gwine to do jus as all on em hab done, byne by when de right one come.  Ah! may be he come now.”

“You old sinner, I have a great mind to pull your ears for you.”

“O no, missus, I don’t know!  I see fine young man dare; but maybe he come wid Miss Ann, and maybe he belong to her.”

“Uncle Toney, don’t you remember I told you of a wild man away from the mountains, all clothed in skins, with a long, curly beard and hair over his shoulders as black as a stormy night?  This is he.”

“Gosh!” said the venerable negro.  “I mus shake his hand; but what hab you done wid your beard, your hair, and your huntin-shirt?”

“I have thrown them all into the fire, uncle.  People among white people must not dress like Indians.”

“Dat’s a fac, young massa; but I tell you Miss Alice was mity taken wid dem tings.  She come here soon as she comed home, and told me all about ’em and all about you—­how you could shoot de bow and how you could talk, and she said:  ‘O! what would I not give to see him again?’”

“Toney, if you don’t shut up, I won’t come to see you, or bring you any more good things.  This young gentleman has come with us to see you, and wishes to hear you tell all about the Natchez, and to get you to show him the many things you have dug up on and around these mounds, and have you tell him all about the old people who came here first and made all these big plantations and built all these great houses.”